


Remember Who You're Fighting For (Knockout Redux)

by itslikegodspilledaperson



Series: Random Fics/ Alternate Universe [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boxing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslikegodspilledaperson/pseuds/itslikegodspilledaperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Jeff is a prize fighter, Annie is his loyal wife, Buzz is his trainer, and Troy/Abed are network commentators.  Mostly Jeff-centric but 2 scenes with Annie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Walkout.

**Author's Note:**

> So i've always been a fan of boxing as well as romance in boxing movies such as Rocky/Adrian from Rocky, and James/Mae from Cinderella Man. I thought it'd be cool to see how J/A functioned here, plus the whole Fighter/Ring Girl thing from Season 4 got me thinking. 
> 
> All characters present exist in the community universe, with the exception of one. so if you don't know a name, it wouldn't hurt to Google :P
> 
> Some canon events from the "prime timeline" are mentioned in this universe, and play into the events in the story.
> 
> KUDOS and FEEDBACK greatly appreciated!

_"Howdy folks I’m Abed Nadir alongside my partner, former Welterweight champion and Middleweight contender, Troy Barnes. Welcome to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada for the championship bout of the century! It’s looking like a promising one, with Light-Heavyweight World Champ Jeffrey “Tango” Winger defending his belt versus the challenger, Willy Van Holt! At 41 years of age, Winger has definitely seen better days yet has successfully defended his title 10 consecutive times, and looks to do so for the 11th here tonight. However, many skeptics believe his fight here tonight isn’t against Willy, but against time. His months leading up to this bout have been mired in some controversy, as he nearly overdosed a few weeks ago due to a potent mix of what we are told was Serbian Rum and Korean Youth Pills, adding fire to the speculation of his age getting the best of him. However, he is here tonight and ready to slug it out, with his trainer, entourage, and loyal wife all still in his corner. And with that, I’ll hand it over to my partner in crime, Troy Barnes."_

_"Thanks Abed. While the concentration tonight will be on whether Winger can keep up a high level of competition while north of 40 years old, his opponent Willy “The Convict” Van Holt is no pushover. Take the nickname very seriously, Van Holt wrongfully served five years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit, and since his release has been one of the meanest yet most efficient boxers around. He’s been undefeated since his incarceration and subsequent liberation two years ago, and while he’s getting up there in age as well, he has significantly less miles on him than Winger. Say what you want about him, but he definitely deserves a shot at Tango’s belt."_  


_"I agree. He’s an aggressive fighter, quick on the attack, and never afraid to get dirty. Plus, at 6’4, you’ve got to think that while Winger’s height gives him a substantial reach advantage, it also leaves his midsection quite open for a brutal bodypuncher like Van Holt. He’s managed to use his wingspan to minimize that handicap throughout his career, but he’s never fought an opponent quite as menacing as Van Holt."_  


_"He definitely hasn’t fought this strong an opponent since Mike Chilada back in ’09."_  


_"Ooh, I remember that one: The Christmas Collision of December 10, 2009. Winger took a couple to the face that day, if I recall correctly. Almost got knocked out a couple of times, and many close to Winger said he was almost too messed up to fight Rich Stephenson a year later."_  


_"And what a shame that would have been. Stephenson and Winger really gave us a show. Stephenson can be so clinical, almost like a doctor in the ring."  
_

_"Well folks, we’re getting off topic so we’ll shoot it to commercial and when we come back we’ll have walkouts, the anthem and hopefully a fight worth telling our grandchildren about. See you in five!"_

He’d fought in front of crowds louder than this but for some reason the noises from this crowd, leaking in from the bleachers above his locker room, seemed more intimidating than ever. Maybe it was because for the first time since he won his belt, he was actually afraid that this could be his last fight with it. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was simply starting to get old. He’d actually been knocked down for the first time in years in his last fight, the one vs. that douchebag Alan Connor. It was his first time going down since Marshall Kane had knocked him ontto a knee back in 2011. Yeah he won both of those fights in the end, but he wasn’t anywhere close to as dominant as he used to be. Those were both pre-overdose, and it was clear that after his post-near death hiatus he had lost more than a step or two.  


So now here he was, sitting on a bench in a dressing room that was empty upon request, with his head hanging in between his knees as he cherished his last few moments of silence before marching into the fray. His trainer, Buzz Hickey, was good at what he did but his pre-fight pep talks tended to get him in his own head. So now he made sure that the 10 minutes leading up to his entry into the arena were silent ones; he had explicitly told security to let no one into the locker room. That is of course, with the exception of one person.  


As if summoned by his thoughts, a soft, slender hand gently touched the back of his outstretched neck startling him just a bit.  


“Someone’s nervous”, mused Annie as she circled around the bench and sat down next to him.  


“Didn’t hear you come in, that’s all.” His gaze moved from the tiled floor to the eyes of his wife, big and blue and full of a genuine worry; the Disney Face.  


“You don’t think I should be doing this, do you?”  


She sighed as she wrapped her hands around his forearm and leaned against his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I just want you to be happy. I’ll never be the one who tells you to stop doing what you love, but I don’t want you to become a vegetable...”  


She trailed off as she began fiddling with a baby blue-colored bracelet on her wrist. “It’s not just me you have to look out for anymore.”  


He nodded solemnly. “I understand. And believe me, when I feel I don’t have it anymore I will not hesitate to hang it up. But…”  


She raised her eyebrows and lifter her head from his shoulders to look up at him. “But what?”  


“Maybe it’s just me not wanting to say goodbye, but I feel I still have something left in the tank.”  


She clasped his gloved hand and pulled it to her lap. “I know, honey. I know. Just promise me that the second you feel you’re empty... The second you feel you have nothing else to give, you’ll be done?”  


He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I promise.”  


She eyed his blue nylon robe, the fabric shining off the reflection of the overhead lights, chuckling to herself.  


“What?”  


“Nothing, I… it’s just whenever I see this robe I think of the day we met.”  


He smiled and nodded. “The Halloween party in 2013…”  


“I still can’t believe you went dressed as your actual profession…vain much?”  


“Well I’m sorry that it was super convenient that my work clothes also make a killer Halloween costume…”  


She grinned at the resurgence of the memory. With him being in a line of work that constantly left her in a state of worry, he treasured the moments where he could at the very least make her smile. In this case it was her recounting the both of them meeting in the library study room of some community college party they'd both been invited to. She'd been a student there at the time, while Jeff's old manager had been taking some classes there as well.  


“And what was that opener you used on me at the punch table?”  


He tilted his head back and groaned teasingly. As much as he pretended to be exasperated by this story, it was working wonders in calming him down. “Something about how we matched because I was a boxer and you were a ring girl?”  


“Just not the right kind of ring girl…”  


He laughed, and lifted a glove and bumped her on the shoulder lightly.  


“Shut up, I thought it was clever. And if I recall I was like, the only one at that party who understood your costume.”  


“Well, I am sincerely grateful for your extensive knowledge of Japanese Horror Films,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his robed chest.  


There was a knock on the door and his head of security, some big guy everyone called Fat Neil, peered into the room as they both looked up.  


“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, maybe a tad uncomfortable.  


He shook his head no.  


A look of relief swept across Neil's face. “Okay, well we just got a call from the officials, we walk out in five minutes.”  


He nodded. “Thanks Neil.”  


She sighed, letting go of him as she started to get up. “I should get to our seats, Shirley is waiting there with Pierce.”  


She kissed him on the forehead before making her way to the door.  


“Wait…” he said in a somewhat exasperated tone before she could open it. He rushed over to her, grabbing her shoulders with his gloved hands.  


“I just want you to know that…before that Halloween party a couple years ago, I never fought for anything else but myself. Now," he peered down at her baby blue bracelet, "I have someone to fight for.” He smiled. "More than one, actually. Maybe that’s why I’m so scared going out there now. Cuz I no longer have nothing to lose. But it’s because of you…because of you both, that I can guarantee that I’ll be fine. And that I will get out before it’s too late.”  


She smiled as a single tear dripped down her left cheek, and she moved onto the balls of her feet as she lifted herself up to kiss him.  


“I know, baby. I love you. Be safe out there.”  


“I love you too. And i will.”  


She smiled and ducked out through the visitor’s door, while he turned around and walked through the personnel exit. On the other side of the door was his security team headed by Neil, his entourage consisting of guys like Magnitude who was hoisting Jeff’s championship belt, his Psychologist and AA sponsor, Ian Duncan, his agent Star Burns, and the rapper Childish Gambino who bore a striking resemblance to that Troy Barnes kid he fought back in 2011. And in the corner was his trainer Hickey.  


“You ready?”  


He took a deep breath.  


“Yep.”  


“Okay Tango, let’s do this.”

_"And welcome back everybody to the fight of the century, as Middleweight champion Jeffrey Winger defends his title against the talented Willy Van Holt. Troy, you’ve fought both of these guys back before your career-ending keg flip injury, who do you give the edge to?"  
_

_"You’re correct, I did fight them back when they were still fighting as middleweights and I gotta say, while Jeff beat me fair and square, Van Holt was the only fighter I actually felt scared in the ring with, so take that for what it is. However, at the end of the day they both beat me, so why does it matter how scared I was?"  
_

_"True words. Okay well as we just saw, the challenger Van Holt has just entered to the tune of "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent, so let’s turn it over to our ringside announcer for the entry of the champ, Jeff Winger."  
_

He stood at the foot of the double doors, waiting for the security guards to receive the cue to open up. In the words of his ex-manager, "if you wanna pray, the minute before those doors open is the time to do it." He never truly believed in praying, but being minutes away from getting your remarkably good-looking face bashed in by some thug from Texas tended to make a person think. He still was a firm non-believer, but sometimes he found himself asking someone.... _something_ to make sure he was okay. He was almost positive no one could hear it, but it felt good to get those thoughts out nonetheless.  


"AAAAAAAND NOW, HAILING FROM DENVER, COLORADO…"  


His throat lumped in his chest as a bit of perspiration began to build up around the collar of his robe.  


"STANDING AT 6 FOOT 4, WITH A RECORD OF 39 WINS, AND 3 LOSSES…"  


He hopped up and down a bit, to work off some excess nerves, letting his arms dangle loosely and his neck crack as he rolled it around his shoulders.  


"THE LIGHT-HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD…"  


The doors opened an a sea of cheers and camera flashes overtook his senses in a sea of sensory overload.  


"JEFFREYYYYY 'TANGO' WINGERRRRRR!!!!"  


Music started to blare, as Gambino grabbed a mic and started rapping the first verse of his hit song "Bonfire". People shouted his name. His entourage surged forward. It was go time. Walking through the crowd to the ring was something that never ceased to amaze him, even when he was 6 years old and his father was his trainor. Once his dad left him and his mom, he lived for walking out of a locker room and to the ring, even if he was at a rec club with a crowd of 20 moms watching. 

Sometimes he felt like the reason he even kept up his fighting was because he thought was ashamed of him. Like, he thought Jeff wasn't a good fighter and left because of that. So he worked twice as hard, practiced twice as long, all in the hopes that maybe his dad would come back and be so impressed with him that he'd stay. He remembered once, when he was 12, he was fighting some kid at the local gym, in front of a good 200 person crowd, and he was WINNING. Between rounds, he saw his dad sitting against a wall, watching intently. He looked so....so... _not impressed._. And it messed with him, perhaps a bit too much because he was knocked out the ensuing round. 

He wouldn't see his dad for another 30 years. So from that day on, he fought for himself, and only himself. And it worked. He was ranked the best amatuer fighter in Colorado by 17, and won an Olympic Gold in Atlanta in 1998. That's where he met Shirley, who put him in touch with that manager who had helped him turn pro. By the time he was 30, he'd won his first title at 168 pounds. He'd lose it soon after, but at 36 he won it back in the 175-lb. division and had never let go. He fought for himself, for money, for fame, glory, clubs, and women, and it was good enough for him. Until he met Annie at that Halloween Party. 

_"We now go down to the ring, where our match referee, Elroy Patashnik, will confront the two combatants."_  


“Okay men, you’ve both had the rules explained to you, but one more time doesn’t hurt. 12 rounds, 3 minutes each. Keep your punches above the belt, and return to your corner if your opponent goes down. If he does go down, he has 10 seconds to get up or you win the match by knockout. I reserve the right to disqualify either of you for unethical fighting. If I feel like you’ve taken too much damage and are medically endangered, I do reserve the right to disqualify you via technical knockout. If you're both still standing at the end of 12 rounds, we'll turn it over to our three judges for a decision. You understand?" 

Jeff and Willy both nodded grimly, never breaking eye contact with each other as they silently sized up their opponent up close for the first time. Yeah they'd had weigh-ins and press conferences and promo photos, but this was the first time they'd had a look at each other in the heat of the competition. Doing it in a ring made all of it seem so much more.... _real._  


Elroy spoke up once more. “Okay, if you wish to tap gloves, do so now. Then return to your corners, and when the bell rings come out fighting. Good luck to the both of ya.”  


Willy held out his gloves, and Jeff quickly tapped the top of Willy’s with the bottoms of his before turning and heading back to his corner, where Hicky awaited.  


“Any last words of wisdom?”  


Hickey just pointed to the crowd, where Jeff could just make out Annie, sitting with Shirley and Pierce. She caught his gaze and mouthed a heartfelt “I love you” his way.  


“Remember what you’re fighting for. And good luck.”  


Jeff nodded, took a deep breath, and inserted his mouthpiece. He rested both gloves on the ropes, and stared at his feet. In his mind, the place went quiet, and for a second it was just him, alone with his thoughts in the ring. There was no fighter in the other corner, no one in the stands, no cameras or reporters, just him. Him and a bell that seemingly refused to sound...  


DING DING!


	2. The Fight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11 rounds in and the fight isn't exactly going Jeff's way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a boxing match is really hard and flashforwards/flashbacks are really easy, so...

_WHAT A FIGHT WE ARE WITNESSING HERE, FOLKS. ELEVEN ROUNDS OF IT, TO BE EXACT. IF YOU’RE JUST JOINING US, WE ARE WITNESSING THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY BETWEEN JEFFREY WINGER AND WILLY VAN HOLT_

_Fight of the century is one way to describe it Abed, and absolute mayhem is another. The punches have been flying left and right here, with Winger landing a couple more than Van Holt, but judging from Winger’s condition right now Van Holt’s punches have carried much more weight._

_Yeah, just like we speculated before the fight, it’s pretty clear now that Winger’s age is clearly getting the best of him. I don’t know if he can even make it through the last round, he’s about as close to a Technical Knockout as a fighter can get wouldn’t you agree Troy?_

_Absolutely, I’ve been watching this dude fight for almost a decade now and never have I seen him take this kind of beating. He’s famous for his close resemblance to Ryan Seacrest but as of now he looks more like one of those guys who got cut by Obi Wan in Star Wars Episode 4._

_Even if Winger does manage to survive this next round, it’s almost certain that Van Holt will win a unanimous decision unless of course Winger can muster up enough energy to go for a knockout here in the 12th._

_And judging from what we’ve seen that seems very unlikely, and if I may add, pretty unsafe on the part of Winger. Knockout caliber punches tend to leave you pretty vulnerable if you miss, and I don’t think Winger can afford another one to that face. Just look at how big a target his forehead is…_

He collapsed onto his stool, and spit his mouthpiece out. Immidiately, the trainers were working on him like a pit crew on a race car at the Daytona 500. He swashed water around his mouth before spitting in a bucket to rinse out the blood that kept constantly accumulating, he was toweled off vigorously in an effort to keep sweat and blood out of his one good eye, and his other eye was being disinfected and iced to reduce swelling after a couple nasty Van Holt punches left it so gashed and bruised that it was impossible to see out of. 

“How we doing?” His trainer Buzz Hickey inquired, crouching down before Jeff. 

Jeff lazily gestured to his beaten and battered face with a gloved hand. “They say you only feel as good as you look.”

Buzz grimaced. “Yeah that’s what I was afraid of…”

Jeff smirked lazily as the gauze, now completely blood-red and soaked was pulled from his mouth and his mouthpiece was reinserted. 

“Ok, so what do we do?”

Buzz gave him a look that Jeff hadn’t seen from a trainer in the entirety of his career; a look that was genuine concern mixed in with a look of helplessness. Buzz looked defeated. 

“Look kid, I’d say give up now cuz one more hit and you’ll be seeing Lucky Charms above your head but I know you won’t listen. So try and stick it out this round if ya want, but I’d get used to the idea of living life without that championship belt if I were you. He’s got you by unanimous decision, no doubt. Hell, even I’d be scoring in his favor if I was a judge. I seriously thought I saw your ghost leaving your body when he landed that uppercut last round… but I think it was actually just the blood and sweat flying off your face. ”

Jeff nodded slowly, still unsure how to take his coach’s unusually pessimistic advice. Buzz’s newfound negativism aside, he knew now that it really WAS the end. He always felt like he could go out on his terms, retire a champion, but maybe losing the belt was all he needed to realize that it was over. He had nothing in the tank. 

The referee Patashnik walked over to his corner as Jeff relished the last few seconds of the break, contemplating what to do in what seemed like the last round of his career.

“Winger, you good for one more?” the bespectacled referee asked.

He nodded, slowly.

“Okay, but you have GOT to show me something out there, this a boxing match for chrissake, not 'Winger gets the snot beat out of him for 12 rounds'! Any other fighter and I would’ve ended it in by now. Ya gotta stop doing this, man. It’s almost physically painful to watch. This has to be it. Don't make me regret not calling this one, I don't want blood on my hands.”

He muttered some semblance of a thank you and a reassurance before Elroy continued.

“Since it’s the last round tap gloves with Van Holt before you start. Let’s end on a classy note. Got it?” 

He nodded silently once again, as Patashnik retreated to the other side of the ring to tell Willy the same thing.

DING DING!

He got up, as Buzz & co. slid offstage. 

“Kid!”

He turned around one last time to Buzz, now below him with his hands on the floor of the ring.

“It’s been a good run.”

Jeff nodded, then headed out to meet Willy. He held out his glove, as the gruff Texan bumped it slightly.

“Congratulations on the fight. You deserve it,” Jeff muttered sincerely as the gloves met each other. He really had… Jeff had opened up the first few rounds toe to toe with The Convict, perhaps even beating him a round or two. But things took a pretty dark turn about halfway through, as Jeff just began to wear down. His endurance wasn’t what it used to be, and neither was his tolerance to things like padded fists to the face. Willy was patient, and smart, and pounced on him down the stretch like a lion stalking a gazelle. A 41 year old gazelle, to be exact. So at the very least, Willy deserved a compliment. But he didn’t seem to be in the mood of receiving whatever olive branch Jeff had to offer. 

Willy just smirked, took a step closer to Jeff, and whispered. 

“It ain’t over yet. I’m making an example outta you.”

If his eyebrows still had the ability to raise in surprise, Jeff was certain that’s what they’d be doing right now. All of a sudden he understood why this guy was so feared in his line of work. Beating Jeff wasn’t enough. Neither was taking his belt. He was going for humiliation points now. He was going to knock Jeff out, if it was the last thing he did. Willie did a little gesture back in the direction of Annie. 

“Your wife loves ya, doesn’t she?” The ex-con continued. Jeff didn’t say a word. He made sure he didn’t as much flinch or even breathe too heavy. He just stared into the black hole that was Willie’s eyes. 

“Lets see how much she loves ya when you’re eating every meal through a straw and sayin’ words like Steven Hawking.”

With that, they stepped back as they waited for Elroy’s go ahead. A fire had begun to burn in Jeff’s chest and it wasn’t because of the 20 punches he’d taken to the gut when Willie had cornered him in the 10th round and made him his own personal punching bag. It was fuel. 

Remember who you’re fighting for, he thought. You may be done after this fight, but that’s three minutes away. Think. A few years ago, he would’ve had nothing to threaten you with. But now… now you have something to draw strength from. Time to use it. 

He had to knock Willy out somehow. Not even to win, but just because he promised someone he loved he’d make it out okay. And he knew that if he didn’t do it this round, Willy would turn him to roadkill. After all, while he had something to lose outside the ring, he had nothing to lose inside it. If he let Willie paint a portrait of fist-sized dents into Jeff’s body/canvas, he would assuredly be knocked out. If he tried knocking out Willie and failed, he’d probably be knocked out anyways. Nothing to lose. 

Eloy dropped his hand, and immediately Van Holt surged forward. Jeff’s fists came up defensively, and a flurry of Willy’s punches bounced off his forearms harmlessly. Willy backed him into a corner for the 5th time in five rounds, but before he could get a good clean punch, Jeff ducked the hook and slipped to the side, backpedaling to the center of the ring. Willy was infuriated. Good, he thought. It’s working. 

The obscure game of cat and mouse continued for the next minute, with Willy swinging freely and Jeff dodging and ducking, trying as hard as possible to ignore the searing pain in his… his everywhere, pouring every last ounce of strength into this final round. His legs felt like rubber, his arms were basically just twigs at this point, and his head pounded so hard it was like his brain was trying to bash its way out from inside, but he continued. With a minute to go, the crowd got on its feet, cheering the two fighters down the homestretch. Jeff and Willy kept up there odd little dance, with Willy throwing each punch harder than the previous one, and Jeff having to put that much more effort into evading it while trying to find some weakness to exploit. 

Thirty seconds. 

Jeff pounded his gloves together and went for the gambit, dropping his gloves completely to his sides and leaving himself completely open. Willy saw his chance, taking a few steps forward and swinging a looping right hand in Jeff’s direction. He ducked-something pretty hard for a guy four inches taller than his opponent-as the momentum from the swing carried Willie’s fist and body well past Jeff. 

The next few seconds seemed like they took an hour; life slowed to a half. As Jeff began his journey back up to eye level, he caught the glimpse of a familiar sight on his right glove, something that had been written there a few years ago: a 10-digit number written in Sharpie.

It all came back to him. 

_“So… you’re a boxer for Halloween?”_

_“Yep. And you’re that girl from the Ring, aren’t you?”_

_“Bingo. It’s weird though, everyone at this party seems to think I’m the ghost of Amy Winehouse or something…”_

_“Well anyone sensible would know that it’s still way too soon for that kinda costume. But hey, on the bright side, we match! At least on paper…”_

_“Huh?”_

_“I’m a boxer… you’re a ring girl… get it?”_

_“Ohhhh! I guess we do, don’t we, uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name???”_

_“Jeff Winger. Yourself?”_

_“Annie Edison. So, I’m assuming you don’t go here since I’ve never seen you around campus. Who do you know here??”_

_“Oh… that guy over there with the suit and bowtie, my, uh, boss. Pierce Hawthorne. Let’s just say if I’m the boxer, he’s my manager.”_

_“I know Pierce! he was actually in my Spanish Class a couple years ago! You guys are doing a 2-person costume?”_

_“Yeah, so to speak.”_

_“Aww, that’s adorable.”_

_“Thanks. We’re actually on our way to a work party right now, but it was nice meeting you Annie Edison!”_

_“Thanks, Jeff Winger!”_

_“Hey, uh, before I go… could I possibly get your number? I’d love to grab coffee or something with you sometime and I’m sorry if it’s too forward-“_

_“-of course, yeah do you have a phone on you or something?”_

_“Umm, yeah but it’s in my car… these gloves are kinda a pain to take off and the shorts don’t have pockets. You wouldn’t mind… writing it on the glove with that sharpie over there by any chance, would you?”_

_“Well you win points for originality. I’ll give you that much, Mr. Winger.”_

_“Just a fair warning Ms. Edison, I’m taking that as a compliment. I’ll call you soon?”_

_“Yeah, I’d like that.”_

The numbers were looped and curved perfectly, and at the end she had even managed to throw in a smiley face. The 10 numbers that started it all. He looked at his right glove as he could feel a fist forming inside it. With every ounce of strength he had left in his body, every single last drop of gas in his tank, he drove it upward. Willy’s errant punch had taken his momentum past Jeff, and he was now desperately trying to turn his head back to his opponent. As his face turned from left to right, Jeff’s glove moved right to left. 

They connected, as Jeff threw what was undoubtedly the hardest punch he had ever thrown in his entire life.

_AND DOWN GOES WILLY VAN HOLT, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???_

_I DON’T BELIEVE WHAT I HAVE JUST SEEN, THIS IS WRINKLING MY BRAIN. WITH MERELY 20 SECONDS TO GO, JEFFREY WINGER HAS KNOCKED WILLY HOLT TO THE CANVAS._

_Elroy Patashnik, who looks a bit surprised as well, has sent Winger to his corner and is counting now!_

_5…_

_6.._

_7._

_8!_

_9!!_

_10!!!!_

_AND IT’S ALL OVER! JEFFREY WINGER HAS DONE IT AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND, HE HAS DEFEATED WILLY VAN HOLT AND DEFENDED HIS BELT FOR THE 11TH STRAIGHT TIME. WILLY WAS 20 SECONDS AWAY FROM AN ALL BUT GUARENTEED VICTORY, AND WINGER HAS KNOCKED HIM OUT COLD. PATASHNIK IS HOLDING WINGER’S GLOVED HAND IN THE AIR, AND IT IS OFFICIAL, FOLKS. JEFFREY WINGER HAS JUST PROVED ONCE IN FOR ALL WHY HE IS ONE OF THE BEST TO EVER DON THE GLOVES. IF YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING TONIGHT FOLKS, YOU’VE WITNESSED HISTORY. WE WILL NOW GO UP INTO THE RING, WHERE OUR RINGSIDE REPORTER BRITTA PERRY IS STANDING BY WITH OUR STILL-REIGNING WORLD CHAMPION, JEFFREY WINGER._

"Thanks Abed. Jeff, that may have been the best fight we have seen in years, but nothing will ever live up to that last punch. Where did that come from?"

He sighed, still sucking wind as he tried to get some semblance of oxygen back into his system.

“I, uh, I dunno. I just thought about why I fight and who I’m doing this for and it kinda just happened I guess.” 

"40 wins now, at 41 years old. Where do you go from here?"

He paused for a second, pensive as he contemplated the million dollar question. But he knew what the answer had to be. 

“I’m actually really glad you asked that because, as of tonight, I’m announcing my retirement from boxing and vacating the title I’ve fought so hard to defend for so many years. 

"Wow, breaking news if you’re tuned in folks, after arguably the fight of his life, and his first fight post-coma, Jeff Winger has announced his retirement from boxing. Jeff, what fueled this decision??"

“Well, I made a promise to those who were important to me that when I felt I had nothing left, I’d hang up my gloves. And that last punch took everything I had with me, so it’s fair to say that it was the last punch I’ll ever throw competitively.”

"With your boxing career now in your rear view, what’s next for arguably the best non-heavyweight of our generation?"

He eyed Annie, flanked by MGM personnel, being escorted to the ring along with Shirley and Pierce, donning big, cumbersome noise cancelling headphones as to not scare him too bad. 

“First and foremost, I want to spend more time with my family, they’ve done so much to support me and help me through the trials and tribulations that come with this particular career path, so I at least owe them that. I love them so much. And as far as a career…”

He looked down and across towards the ringside commentary desk, where for a brief and fleeting second he made eye contact with the kid Troy Barnes. 

“I can see myself training other fighters in the near future, maybe even helping guys coming back from injuries and such.”

"Final question before i let you celebrate with your family and friends… A year ago today, your manager, friend, and lifelong mentor Pierce Hawthorne died tragically. Was he on your mind today as well?"

He knew the question was coming, and he knew his answer, but it didn’t make it any easier to say.

“Of course, he was the man who started my career and I can firmly say that none of this would have been possible without him. He’s been like a father to me since I was 17 and…”

Annie was inside the ring now, a mere few feet from him, eyes watering as she grinned ear to ear and embraced him. It was a heartwarming site. Next to her was Shirley, but in her arms was their baby boy, in a powder blue onesie that matched the bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She passed him to Jeff and he kissed his child's cheek, before wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her in for another quick embrace and a kiss. He broke his lips away from hers but kept his arm around her and kept her wrapped in him, then turned back to Britta with his wife in one arm and child in the other.

“…and I couldn’t think of a more perfect man to have named my son after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah i know that Willy is just like a super thuggish and overtly mean dude in this chapter, but it made him easy to hate and it made a storybook ending all the more possible so i went down that road and shamelessly plugged the cartoonishly evil Yosemite Sam-southern guy cliche. 
> 
> Jeff retiring and deciding to go into training (where its implied he'll train Troy as he comes back from his injury) is supposed to mirror the real Jeff going into teaching law after being a lawyer.
> 
> I miss Pierce Troy and Shirley...

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, if it wasn't obvious all of Jeff's previous opponents are people he's butted heads with in the past. And their fights are specific-ish moments from the show, listed with the year those episodes were aired. 
> 
> Mike Chilada and Jeff actually did fight in S1 (Comparative Religions)
> 
> Rich didn't really fight Jeff on any level, but it was apparent Jeff wasn't a fan and fought his inclusion in the group (Asian Population Studies) 
> 
> Beginning with the S2 finale and lasting all the way through S3, Troy begins to challenge Jeff as the alpha male of the group.
> 
> Professor Kane and Jeff collide somewhat in the 3.01 premier. 
> 
> Willy (i just gave him the last name of the actor who portrays him since i don't think we ever actually learn it) is the last person to clash with Jeff, thus he's the one Jeff fights here. 
> 
> I was torn with what to do with Troy because i wanted him in the booth with Abed, but wanted him in Jeff's entourage as well so i decided to kinda clone him i guess? Hey, boxers love having rappers in their corner, and Gambino is a rapper so it made sense.
> 
> Elroy's voice and look is perfect for an old-timey referee :P


End file.
